Slated For Love
by TracyLeeT
Summary: Ben and his sons take steps to move forward after losing their beloved Marie.


**Slated For Love**

Ben sat comfortably in his favorite chair, puffing on his favorite pipe, a birthday gift earlier that year from his sons. He knew that Marie had helped the boys with their surprise gift, but she'd insisted that the idea had come from Adam and that all three of her sons had earned more than enough to pay its extravagant cost. As he took measure of his true riches, his beloved sons, his eyes smiled, hiding the always lingering tears of the past few weeks.

Adam sat next to the warmth of the fireplace in the tall, blue velvet chair, seemingly lost in his studies. Ben took notice of Adam's frequent, brief glances at his two younger brothers as they sat on the floor at the large, pine table drawing on their slates. "They're never far from his thoughts," Ben mused proudly.

Little Joe was perched on his knees and Ben tried to recall a time when doing the same would not have caused him pain in his tired joints. Joe's concentration as he drew what appeared to be three figures, most likely he and his brothers, each with a flower in their massive hands, surprised Ben; the four-year-old could barely sit still long enough to sleep let alone produce such a detailed chalk masterpiece!

Hoss sat with his chubby legs resting side by side, and Ben knew that although the boy's feet were hidden beneath the living room table, his toes were undoubtedly waving to and fro, clapping together in unconscious movement. In the last ten minutes, Hoss hadn't spoken a word in response to Joe's frequent questions and comments but instead, he'd answered his little brother with grunts and head nods as his tongue worked diligently in tandem with his plump fingers.

Though he'd been asked politely to refrain from looking at Hoss's latest picture, Ben craned his neck in an effort to see the boy's slate, but the large bowl of fresh apples and pears that always graced the table obscured his view.

"Dadgummit!" Hoss said softly, holding up two small pieces of chalk. "I tried ta use it all, but it broke. Joe, I got two more fillin'-in pieces here if ya need 'em."

"Thanks, Hoss," Joe said, holding out his right hand and continuing to draw with his left. "I can use 'em, that's for sure!"

Hoss glanced at the box of chalk sitting across the way on the dining room table and, with the help of his ever-obliging tongue, wriggled to his feet, stepped carefully around his brother, and came to a stop between Ben's legs. With one gentle hand pressing on each of Ben's knees, Hoss looked at his father and asked, "Pa, can I take a new piece?"

Without looking up from his textbook, Adam mumbled, "'May I.' Its: 'May I have a new piece?'"

Hoss rolled his deep blue eyes. "Adam wants a new piece too, Pa."

Adam closed his book, his index finger holding his page, and looked to his father with all of the patience he could muster. "I do not want a piece of chalk, Hoss. I was merely correcting your use of the word 'can'. You can have another piece of chalk, but to ask permission to take it, you must use the word 'may'. Understand?"

Hoss looked at his father, at Adam, and back to his father again. Pressing against his father's thighs, Hoss crawled quickly onto Ben's lap, and looking him square in the eyes, said, "Adam says I can have one, Pa." Then, Hoss leaned in closer, and whispered, "Adam don't want none after all. He ain't even got his slate!" And with that, Hoss climbed down and hurried to the table to select a new, long piece of white chalk.

To Ben's amusement, Adam opened his mouth, thought better of attempting further commentary, and returned to his book. Ben's next thoughts centered on tomorrow's breakfast, how he'd sit at the breakfast table with his beautiful Marie and tell her of the entertaining scene she had missed by turning in early the evening before. If only . . . The hot sting of the day's hoarded tears suddenly burned his eyes and pipe in hand, he hastily fled toward the front door and out of view of his three young sons.

Adam watched over the top of his book as his father excused himself for "a little fresh air". Adam knew all too well that his father's thoughts had once again drifted to Marie and he acknowledged that if his father's thoughts were anything akin to his own, the distance to thoughts of her was minimal at best. Since Marie's death, a mere three months ago, Adam had done all he could to be the son his father deserved; a son who not only continued with his own chores, but assumed as many of the burdens left by his father's intense grief as a thirteen-year-old boy could. He'd divided his limited spare moments between soothing Hoss's tears over his mother's loss and cleaving to Joe as he sobbed pleas for his Mama to return. One day, he'd puffed his chest with pride when he'd found Hoss, just seven years old, sitting on the floor of Joe's bedroom, gently rocking him and humming Marie's favorite lullaby as Joe's tiny hands clung to his father's silver-framed picture of the mother they all grieved. But now, a night when a modicum of normalcy had crept into their lives, Adam was relieved that the suffocating blanket of sadness that had fallen over the Ponderosa was gradually lifting, and that his father was finding the strength to control his anguish until out of sight from Little Joe and Hoss.

On the porch, Ben shivered in the warmth of the summer night air. Since Marie's passing, he'd struggled with a constant chill in his bones and nothing seemed to balance the cold ache in his heart with the heat of the summer days and nights. His tears flowed without his awareness, cascading down his cheeks, some falling to the ground while others trickled over his chin and down his neck. He was certain that Adam, always sensitive to everything going on around him, knew why his father had retreated to the porch, and his heart ached over the extra burdens that had befallen his young son. He knew, too, that Hoss's gentle, flourishing sensitivity to others would soon, if it hadn't already, attune Hoss to his father's suffering as well, and Ben prayed in silence for the strength to overcome his anguish before it distanced him from the sons he cherished more than his own life.

As Ben collected his thoughts and emotions, inside, Little Joe was busy with the pieces of "fillin'-in" chalk. Hoss, nearly finished with his creation, added the final details to the picture before hunching close to his slate and scanning every stroke and line to assure its perfection. Satisfied with his latest masterpiece, Hoss looked wide-eyed at the empty burgundy chair. "Where's Pa, Adam?" he asked, hoping that his father hadn't gone far. "He was jist here a second ago!"

Adam crossed his propped feet at the ankles. "He's been outside for nearly fifteen minutes, Hoss," Adam replied. "Didn't you notice that he was gone?"

Hoss shoved his balled fists onto his hips. "Jeepers, Adam!" Hoss said. "I wouldn't a asked iff'n I already knowed!" And with that, Hoss picked up his slate and scurried to the front door. Careful not to touch the chalk drawing with his fingers, Hoss held onto the slate with one hand and lifted the latch with the other before dashing onto the porch and joining his father, leaving the front door hanging open.

"Hoss," Ben said, turning away as he quickly wiped the tears from his face, "how many times have I told you to close the door behind you?"

In the bright summer moonlight, Ben watched through swollen eyes as Hoss began the task of silently tallying his door-closing reprimands. He had to turn his head when a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's alright, Hoss," he said softly, proud of his son's never-ending desire to please him, "just go and close the door."

"Okay, Pa," Hoss said, his cheerful tone ringing across the front yard of the Ponderosa as he completed his task and returned, the slate still held fast in his hand. "Pa," he began, "I want ta show ya somethin' I made, but ya hafta promise that it'll make ya smile."

Ben knelt down next to his son and placed his reassuring, strong hand around Hoss's shoulder. "Son," Ben whispered, his eyes glowing as he looked into the sweet face of his middle son, "anything you've made will always make me smile." Ben slipped his hands beneath Hoss's arms and as one, he stood and carried Hoss to the rocker sitting beneath the glowing porch lamp. As he sat and Hoss fidgeted his way to a comfortable position, but he laughed and said, "You know, Hoss, you're getting to be such a big, strong boy that before we know it, you won't be able to fit on my lap!"

Hoss, his slate still in his hand, slowly raised his eyes to meet his father's. "That's okay, Pa," he said. "When I git that big, then I guess you kin sit on my lap!"

Ben smiled and tousled Hoss's fine, brown hair and wrapped his arms around his son's chest in a quick embrace. "Now, suppose you show me what you've made!"

"Okay, Pa," Hoss said, "but 'member, you promised ta smile!" After Ben nodded his promise, Hoss lifted the slate, holding it just high enough that the porch lamp's radiance illuminated the chalk drawing.

Ben stared in silence at the drawing of a woman with long, solid white hair that seemed to drape gently over her shoulders. She wore a dress with long sleeves, although one of her arms was considerably shorter than the other. The bodice of the dress and its long, billowy skirt were also filled in lightly with white chalk, the shading creating a ghostly appearance to the large eyed figure. The woman's feet were drawn without shoes, and the scale of the feet was much too small for the rest of the body. Ben tilted the slate, allowing more light to shine directly on the tablet. In the center of the woman's chest was a large, solid white heart and the line of her bodice, leading from the heart, around her neck, and back again to the heart, gave Ben cause for concern.

"This is a very nice drawing, Hoss," Ben said. "I like the way you pressed hard here . . . and here to make the heavy, white coloring. And here, here, and . . . here, you pressed lightly, making it look like her dress."

Hoss beamed and rocked with excitement from side to side. "Adam showed me how ta do that, Pa!"

Ben nodded. "Well, the two of you are very clever!" he said. "Now, let me ask you a question, Hoss. This is her heart, is that right?"

"Yes, sir, that's her heart!" Hoss replied, touching the slate lightly with his index finger. "See, this is the pointy part and these two big bumpies on top are the rest of her heart!"

"I see," Ben said, relieved that the 'bumpies on top' were not what he'd originally thought they might be. "Well, then, can you tell me about her tiny little feet?"

"You're silly, Pa!" Hoss said, squirming restlessly on Ben's lap. "you always say Mama must have the tiniest feet 'cause you can never hear her comin'!"

Ben's breath caught in his throat. Now, it all made sense. The heart wasn't really her heart. It was the heart-shaped necklace that Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe had given Marie on her last birthday. And the reason Hoss had made Ben promise to smile when he showed him the drawing was because for the past three months, everywhere Ben looked, he saw his late wife and he was always sad.

"Do ya like it, Pa?" Hoss asked, snapping Ben from his thoughts. "Do ya think Adam 'n' Lil Joe will like it, too?"

Before Ben could collect his words, Hoss continued. "I want everybody ta like it, Pa, 'cause I don't like it when you're out doin' chores 'n' Lil' Joe cries. 'N' the other day, when you was in town, I saw Adam out in the barn 'n' he was so mad, Pa. He was hitting on a big pile o' hay 'n' he kept on hittin' till he fell down 'n' then he started cryin' too. I know you got a picture of Mama in your bedroom, Pa, 'n' now we can hang this one in the big room in the house so we can all see Mama whenever we miss her."

Ben steeled himself for the inevitable: the release of anguished tears that came at the very thought of his beloved Marie. His eyes were blank and his face drained of color as he stared at the slate in Hoss's hands, but instead of the void and the tears that he anticipated, the only thing he felt were Hoss's small hands on either side of his face. The young boy pulled on his face, bringing their eyes together in the lamplight.

"Pa," Hoss said, "you ain't gittin' sad, are ya? 'Member your promise."

Ben smiled and Hoss responded, pressing Ben's cheeks together and giggling at the face his father made. "No, Hoss," Ben replied, "I'm not getting sad. In fact, for the first time in quite a while, I'm feeling happy. Happy that I have Adam. Happy that I have Little Joe. And happy that I have my sweet Hoss and the beautiful masterpiece he drew on his slate."

~ ~ finis ~ ~


End file.
